We are all broken, we are all reeling. From a lifetime of heartbreaks, rejections, and glances that were never returned. Every closing of the eyelids brings back memories comfortably buried in the depths of the mind. And we do not like anything that intensifies this feeling. No, we hate it with all our might. How do we smile a little wider every day, if not? Maybe this is why February, the 14th is more dreaded than Friday, the 13th.
It may offer you some solace to know that you are not alone in this. Hey, you see all the memes, don’t you? I have one thing to address though. Why is the pain such a bad thing? Why do we place such importance on having to be with someone on Valentine’s, or being starkly against it, or just being upset when the expectations we set are not met? Why can’t we, just be?
Just be where we are, how we are, and just appreciate the beauty of love. So what is love then? That’s the real question, isn’t it? Humanity has tried to define it in a billion different ways, yet failed to do so in its entirety.
Is it finding something that fits – like a piece of a puzzle, or like the hand that fits the spaces between your fingers? Or is it finding the beauty in the union of two misfits?
Is it the feeling that fills the air even after two souls decide to never cross paths again? Or the yearning that pulls them back in?
Is it the warmth that spreads through your body when Arijit sings “Mere pin code ka number, aaj se tera ho gaya”? Or the one that still lingers with every “Aaj se tera, gham mera ho gaya”?
Is it like the North Star, letting you find your way back when you are lost? Or the impulse that makes you rush into the wild with no worry of where you might end up?
Is it the butterflies flying around in your stomach on your first date? Or the love handle that comes with going to that same restaurant for the hundredth date?
Is it a feeling that can’t be described in mere words? Or is it like the German language – giving a name to inexplicable feelings?
Is it the loyalty of your dog, that eagerly keeps its tail wagging until you return? Or the squeal of pure joy when your baby spots you?
Is it the smile on your mother’s face when you show up to that event you hate going to? Or when she offers dinner after yelling her lungs out at you?
Is it the exact number of “fuck you”s directed at your friend? Or the rare “I love you”s that slip out when drunk?
Maybe I am way off here. Maybe love means none of these. Or maybe – just maybe, it is some part of all of these. It was never something we were meant to understand, but something we surrender to and let lead the way. In essence, we all have something to hold on to. It may not be what you want right now, but you will never know how much better off you are because of it. We are all broken, we are all loved.
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